Sweet is the Sound of Falling Rain
by Emoryems
Summary: Sixty years after Bilbo departs from Erebor, he receives guests he has not seen since. Little does he know that he and his young heir are about to be swept up into the lives (and arms) of some very old friends. Fili/Kili/Frodo and Thorin/Bilbo.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: any and all comments or constructive criticisms are welcomed with open arms. Your encouragement means the world to me. This may also be found on AO3 under the same name.

Written for a prompt on the hobbit kink meme: "When Fili and Kili meet Bilbo's nephew, Frodo, they fall head over heels for the just-coming-of-age hobbit. Now they just have to court him :)"

* * *

When a knock on the door jolts Bilbo and Frodo from their supper, Bilbo is at once irritated. "Oh, bother," he says, putting his fork and knife down with some force.

"Don't get up, Uncle," Frodo says. "I'll get the door."

Bilbo's shoulders slump a little in relief. "Thank you, my boy. It seems that we might never get a moment of peace."

Frodo smiles as he walks to the door. There seems to be a never-ending stream of guests at Bag End, what with his and Bilbo's birthdays mere weeks away. His uncle, who is truly a cousin, would prefer to bar the doors until the day comes, and has become ever-more annoyed by the constant interferences into their days and evenings.

Opening the door with a slight flourish, Frodo finds himself frozen in place. He had expected a distant relation of some sort, perhaps two, who had come to discuss party business. That is not, however, what he is presented with.

Frodo must look as shocked as he feels, for before he can gather his wits, his guests are in motion.

"Fíli," says one.

"Kíli," says the other.

"At your service," they say together with a bow.

Frodo opens his mouth to greet them, mind awhirl with excitement and slight confusion, when a sudden cry comes from behind him. He turns in time to see Bilbo rush down the hall, his eyes beaming with happiness.

"Mr. Bilbo!" The one introduced as Fíli steps forward and meets Bilbo in an embrace, and the other joins them, both arms thrown wide.

Frodo finds that he is smiling uncertainly. He recognizes these dwarves as those from Bilbo's tales, but he is a little intimidated by their size, and how Bilbo has disappeared almost entirely between them.

When they eventually pull apart, Bilbo is held at arm's length by Kíli, who is grinning. "It is very good to see our burglar," he says.

"And it is very good to see both of you," Bilbo says. "Though I must say I nearly did not recognize you, Kíli. Your beard has filled out most impressively."

Frodo can only assume that Bilbo's words are some very impressive compliment indeed, for Kíli pulls Bilbo into his arms once again. It is at this point that Frodo notices the blonde dwarf, Fíli, watching him with interest.

"And who is this, Bilbo?" Fíli asks.

"Oh dear me," says Bilbo, ushering Frodo closer. "I'm terribly sorry my boy, I got quite caught up."

Bilbo takes hold of Frodo's shoulder and indicates the dwarves in turn. "Fíli, Kíli, I would like to introduce you to my heir and ward, Frodo Baggins."

Both of the dwarves look startled momentarily, but recover near-flawlessly by transitioning into smiles. They bow again, this time briefly, and Frodo finds himself flushing a little under both of their gazes.

"At your service and your family's," Frodo says in the Dwarvish custom that Bilbo had instructed him. "Are you here for the celebrations?"

Bilbo hums happily, bouncing a little on his toes. "Yes, are you?"

"We couldn't miss it," says Kíli. His brother nods in agreement.

"Excellent." Bilbo grins at Kíli and Fíli again and says, "You will be staying here, of course. I'll not have you put up in some inn down the way, not when we have plenty of room. Though I'm sure the innkeepers will disparage our stealing of their business."

"That's very kind of you," says Fíli. "There are two more in our party; shall we tell them to join us?"

"Yes, yes," says Bilbo. "As long as no one minds sharing rooms. Who else has come, then? It's quite the distance, and with all of the years, well, I hadn't expected so many to come."

"Bofur has come, and Bifur too. They are travelling with the cart."

"We went ahead once we entered Hobbiton," says Kíli. "They won't be far behind."

"Thorin will be along in a week, give or take a couple of days. The roads were calm, and we don't suspect he'll come upon any trouble," Fíli adds. "He was caught up in meetings."

"To get everything ready for his absence, you see." Kíli smirks. "Dwalin's escorting him. He would thump us something good to hear it said, but he's been slowing down these last few years."

Fíli nudges his brother in the ribs. "He and Dwalin didn't want to try and keep up with us."

Bilbo's hands are shaking a little, which he hides by shoving them into his pockets. "He's coming?"

Fíli smiles a little, gently. "Yes."

"This trip has been many years in the making," Kíli says. "And with your most recent correspondence, well, we couldn't keep away. Had to come see our burglar off, we did!"

Frodo frowns, a spike of anxiety fluttering in his chest. Bilbo has been speaking of plans to travel, but he had never indicated that he was serious. That he was actually going to leave.

"Well then," Bilbo says somewhat hastily. "How about a cup of tea? Or that ale that you liked so much. You lot drank the whole keg last time, if I remember correctly."

"We would enjoy some ale very much, thank you," says Fíli.

"It has been a very long journey," says Kíli in agreement.

Fíli and Kíli strip off their weapons and outer cloaks, gratefully handing the heavy burdens to Frodo and Bilbo to be stored away on the multitude of hooks and chairs surrounding the entrance hall.

"I'll get that ale flowing," Bilbo says, already heading down the hall with hurried steps. "Frodo will get you situated in the kitchen," he yells behind him.

Frodo nods easily and smiles at the dwarves. "Follow me, if you will."

Kíli's eyes had follow Bilbo as he bustled by, and now he looks to Frodo and says, "Lead on, Master Baggins."

Bag End is littered with books and maps and miscellaneous papers. It is the detritus of a well-lived life full of easy days with noses buried in written tales, and of learning. Always learning; of other places, languages, and peoples. Candle stumps and empty ink pots clutter every ledge and surface, and the scent of roasted vegetables and meat fills the air.

Frodo leads Fíli and Kíli into the kitchen, all the while stepping around chests, chairs and sheaves and piles of paper. Bilbo can be heard muttering as he taps a keg of ale in the pantry, and Frodo watches as the dwarves run the tips of their fingers along door jams and furniture as though lost in some deep memory.

When they reach the kitchen Frodo notes that Kíli has to duck down to get through the door. The brothers are both tall, especially when considered by a hobbit, but Kíli is especially so. Frodo wonders if the beds will be too short for Kíli, and if his feet will hang over the edges. Perhaps they will have to resort to setting the brothers up in the room they usually reserve for Gandalf. There a Man-sized bed resides.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Frodo hurries to clear the table of scattered maps and things so that they can all sit comfortably. Bilbo and Frodo don't often entertain guests in the kitchen, and they have only left two spots clear, where their abandoned plates of food now lay.

Bilbo comes into the room with two mugs of ale, and sets them before Fíli and Kíli.

The dwarves raise the mugs in thanks and take deep pulls. Frodo is amused by the dribbles of golden brew that spill down their beards and dot their shirts with wet patches. But then, he supposes, it must be different to drink with those great beards than without.

"You've arrived at supper time again," says Bilbo. He sees the little smiles that Kíli and Fíli share. "Which I'm sure you didn't intend in the least," he says, knowing otherwise.

Frodo laughs at the contrition that paints the dwarves' faces, which is almost completely covered by the earnest expectation there as well. At the sound of his mirth all eyes turn to him, and Frodo finds that his smile freezes at the intensity of their eyes.

"There is plenty to eat," says Bilbo. "Frodo my boy, why don't you get that ham from the pantry? We'll cook up some more potatoes and tomatoes, and there will be enough for everyone."

Frodo is glad to have an excuse to leave the room, to break away from the stares of Fíli and Kíli, and he rushes to get the leg of cured and smoked ham from the pantry. He grabs a platter of breads and cheeses along the way, and goes back to the kitchen with his arms laden.

Kíli jumps up. "Here, let me." And he takes the plate with the ham on it from Frodo and sets it on the table.

"Thank you," Frodo says. He sets down the last plate, and turns to help Bilbo grab more plates and cutlery.

Soon they are eating a hearty meal and drinking down ale and tea. Kíli and Fíli make appreciative noises over the salted and smoked ham, and eat so much bread and cheese that they are groaning over their empty plates about their full bellies before long.

"You did not travel all this way alone, did you?" Bilbo asks when they have finished the meal and cleared away the leftovers. He looks concerned.

Kíli rolls his eyes a little and Fíli says, "No. We joined a party of miners and craftsmen on their way to the mines of Ered Luin."

"Thorin would not dare let his heirs travel the East-West Road alone," Kíli says. There is no sarcasm or ill-favour in his voice, which speaks much about the maturity the last 60 years have afforded him.

"And a good thing, too, I should say," Bilbo says. "Dark times are ahead, I think. The roads aren't as safe as they used to be."

Fíli hums in agreement. "'Tis true. There are a great many more orcs in the world now than I have every known there to be."

Kíli nods solemnly. "The East-West Road is well-used by our kin and by the elves on their way to the sea, and I fear that if it weren't so our trip might never have occurred at all."

"Then I am even more glad that you have come," says Bilbo, his voice heavy with emotion.

"Even Gandalf remarked on this occasion the last time he was in Erebor," says Kíli. "We were beginning to think that the whole of Middle-earth was going to travel to the Shire."

Frodo laughs and says, "Maybe not all of Middle-earth, but the whole of the Shire itself seems to be ready to converge on Bag End."

Bilbo lets out a hearty laugh. "One hundred and eleventy is a special number among hobbits, you see," explains Bilbo. "And with Frodo's coming of age being on the same day, we are sure to have half the Shire in attendance." He looks at Frodo and says pointedly, "Or more."

"You share a birthday, then?" asks Kíli. "That is some luck."

"Yes," Frodo says as he pours more tea for himself. The dwarves have already been plied with a third round of ale, this time drinking slowly so that Frodo hasn't had to refill their mugs quite so often. "Would you like some more, Uncle?" Frodo asks, moving to fill Bilbo's cup again.

"Yes, thank you my boy."

"Uncle?" Kíli asks. "He's not yours?" He and Fíli stare a Bilbo intently, as though they are asking for a greater reason than curiosity.

Bilbo laughs and he and Frodo share a smile. "No, no. We're cousins by two manners, and Frodo has lived here he was a young lad."

"Ah." Kíli leans back and takes a sip of ale. "I was getting concerned that we would be faced with a missus Baggins."

"And I can imagine," says Fíli, "that any person brave enough to marry our burglar would not be one to mess with."

Bilbo laughs. "I've kept my bachelorhood quite well all of these years. I'm in no hurry to change that."

And so they drink and laugh and tell tales of their exploits over the years, and generally avoid any topics too serious to warrant grim consideration. It is after Frodo and Bilbo have joined the dwarves in drinking ale when the sound of ponies and a wagon reach their ears.

"That'll be Bifur and Bofur," says Kíli as he stands.

"Aye. And they'll be needing no little amount of help in unloading everything." Fíli empties his mug in one long swallow and follows Kíli to the door.

Bilbo, looking overjoyed, hurries along.

Frodo follows at a more sedate pace. He hears laughter and joyous greetings before he makes it to the front hall. He is met once again by the sight of Bilbo being engulfed in the arms of dwarves.

This time the dwarves who greet Bilbo are closer to the height of a hobbit, though they are still broader and heftier with muscle. One has his hair braided in three ways, one to the back and two to the sides, and the other has an axe-head healed into his skull. It is easy for Frodo to distinguish Bofur and Bifur on sight, as Bilbo had always spoken well and at length of them.

"It is a joy to see you again, Bofur," says Bilbo.

Bofur's hair is mostly grey, and his great mustache is lined with jeweled beads that sway with his movements. His grin is bright and merry as he looks upon Bilbo. "And you, my friend," he says.


	2. Chapter 2

Bofur and Bifur unload what seem to be hundreds of toys, each and every one packaged carefully.

Bofur sees Frodo's look of interest as he helps by taking armful after armful into Bag End, and says, "Presents for the party. We sell these at the markets of Dale; the Dwarves of Erebor are renowned for the toys we craft."

"And you are most generous," Bilbo says as he takes a long box from Bifur. "The wee ones will be delighted."

"It is our pleasure to supply presents for your birthday, Bilbo." Bofur grunts as he hefts a large armful from the cart and passes them to Bifur.

"Don't forget that it is Frodo's birthday as well," calls Kíli as he carries his own burden into Bag End.

"Hm," agrees Fíli, handing an oddly shaped box to Frodo. "And his coming of age at that."

Frodo gifts Fíli with a quirk of his lips. "It just means more presents for everyone, with both Uncle Bilbo's and my birthday at once." He emphasizes 'uncle' with a sly sideways glance at Bilbo. They had both been pleasantly amused by Fíli and Kíli's earlier concern over their family ties.

Bofur watches the exchange with delight. "It would appear that the children of the Shire shall never want for dwarf-made toys again with this haul."

The group laughs and continues to ferry the contents of the cart into Bag End. They have almost finished when a voice calls from down Bagshot Row.

"What's all this then, Master Bilbo?"

Bilbo turns and smiles at Hamfast Gamgee, who is coming down the road with his young son Sam at his side. "Hello there, Gaffer," he calls. "We've got some guests, you see, just arrived for the celebrations."

"Will you be needing some rooms? The Ivy Bush is always looking for patrons," says Hamfast.

Bilbo shakes his head. "No. We're quite alright here. Though, come to think of it, we'll be needing to stable these ponies."

The Gaffer looks at the ponies and makes a noise of thought. "There are no stables here on the Hill, but the Cotton's might have some room down in Bywater. That or one of the inns, though you might be needing to argue a steep price for the use of those without the use of rooms as well."

Bilbo scoffs and says, "Steep price indeed. We'd best try with the Cotton's first. Frodo, lad, would you mind?"

Nodding, Frodo rushes to relieve his last armful of packages. As he is entering Bag End, however, he is stopped by the Gaffer's voice.

"Don't you be bothering yourself with that young Master Frodo," calls Hamfast. "My Sam will run the errand himself."

Sam, who had been quiet so far, nods vigorously. "Of course. Will you be needing just the two ponies stabled? Or are there more coming?"

Bilbo smiles at Sam. "Just the two, Sam."

"Alright," says Sam. "I'll see to it, then."

And then Sam is off, not entirely running but hurrying all the same.

Bilbo smiles after the lad. "You and Sam must join us for luncheon tomorrow, Gaffer," he says.

"You're too kind Master Bilbo," says Hamfast.

"Nonsense," Bilbo says. "You know Frodo and I enjoy your presence."

"Aye. That I do," says the Gaffer. He then makes his way back down the Hill.

After they have unloaded the wagon and the ponies have been securely stabled, thanks to the kindness of the Gaffer and his son Sam, and the Cotton's (with some little amount of gold), the party of dwarves and hobbits retire in Bag End.

The dwarves have stripped their weapons and outerwear, and are sitting sprawled in the various couches and chairs around the fire in the sitting room. They prop their feet up and puff at Old Toby, and Bofur and Bifur eat from an assortment of cold meats and cheeses left from earlier. Bilbo notes with a quirk of his brows that both Fíli and Kíli's eyes stray to look upon Frodo more often than not, no matter what the topic of discussion.

When Bilbo looks to Frodo, he finds that his heir, who is sitting in one of the arm chairs with a cup of tea cradled in his hands, is watching their guests with undisguised interest and curiosity as well. Bilbo feels a tightening of his chest as he considers how very similar Frodo is to him, how the want for knowledge and need for new stimulation drives his mind.

He also thinks of how young Frodo is, how innocent he is of the ways of the world outside the boarders of the Shire. And how he wishes he could protect Frodo from the many hurts and deep sorrows that life may bring him.

Leaving his thoughts behind, for this is not the time for sorrow or grief or regret, Bilbo reaches over and tugs gently at one of Bofur's braids and says, "And where is your hat Master Dwarf? I do not believe I have ever seen you defrocked in such a manner."

Fíli and Kíli suddenly laugh uproariously into their ale.

"Oh Bilbo, it is a fine tale, the loss of Bofur's hat," says Fíli.

"A fine tale for a fine hat," agrees Kíli.

Frodo looks between the dwarves, smiling. "You must tell it now," Frodo says, directing his attention to Bofur.

Bofur glares playfully at Fíli and Kíli, but begins to speak anyway.

What follows is a tale that has the entire room in gales of laughter, and not only one set of eyes are streaming tears by the end. Kíli is gasping and holding his stomach as though his hands are the only thing stopping his insides from spilling out, and Frodo is rocking backward and forward in his seat as his body is wracked with mirth.

The only one to be unaffected by the tale is Bifur, though that may be because he has heard it so very often as Bofur's cousin that it has lost effect, or because he has disappeared into his own mind as he is wont to do.

"And somewhere in the confusion of it all my head had been ignited and my poor hat was burnt beyond recognition," finishes Bofur with a look of contrived sorrow.

"It wasn't the only thing," whispers Kíli to Fíli, sending them into a new fit of laughter.

"Oy," says Bofur. "I'll have you know that all of the hair grew back in fine form." He pats his thick grey hair with some relief, as though glad to find it all there and in order.

After the group as calmed their laughter and wiped away their tears, Bilbo asks, "How does Bombur fare?"

Bofur chuckles. "He wanted to come as well, but he's become so fat that he cannot walk, you see. Our return to Erebor and our riches have left him with no small amount of food to satisfy his hunger."

Bilbo and Frodo's eyes widen.

"Dear me," says Bilbo. "How ever does he go about, then?"

Bifur, having focused again on the conversation around him, says something in Khuzdul that sends the other dwarves into peals of laughter yet again.

"He has attendants that help him from bed, to the table, and back again. Some days he ventures out into the halls, but those times are becoming further between." Bofur smiles at the hobbits.

"Well," says Bilbo, "as long as he is happy."

"That he is," agrees Bofur easily.

Though the keg of ale was not completely depleted this time, despite the fact that they certainly did try, the party of dwarves and hobbits eventually retire to their rooms to sleep. Bilbo watches Frodo wander languidly down the hall with Fíli and Kíli not far behind, and thinks, quite privately indeed, that the brothers will be good for Frodo.

Bilbo's own bed beckons him, and he lays down and presses his head into the pillow. There is a smile on his face, and he feels like just a little of the thinned feeling, the unknown burden in his heart, has been eased this night.

–

Bilbo wakes late to a headache borne of too much ale and with the smell of fried bacon and potatoes wafting through his open door. He groans as he sits up, rubbing a hand over his eyes and down his face.

He should already be up and seeing to his guests, and instead he has gone and slept too long and breakfast is already cooking.

Bilbo rolls from bed and changes quickly. His fingers fumble on the small golden buttons on his waistcoat, and he is amused to find that it is the same one he had worn many years ago during Balin's first visit after they had re-taken Erebor.

He wonders if these dwarves will notice the change from bronze to gold as well.

As he walks down the halls to the dining room Bilbo hears the sounds of movement and hushed voices getting louder. When he reaches the door of the kitchen, Bilbo pauses and takes in the scene before him.

Fíli and Kíli are sat at the table, each cradling a cup of steaming tea, and it seems that Bilbo is not the last to wake, as Bifur and Bofur are absent. At the stove Frodo is pushing a considerable amount of bacon and sausages around in frying pans, the sizzling and popping grease occasionally making him flinch and hiss as it hits his exposed arms.

Fíli looks up when Frodo jumps away to avoid some particularly avid spatters of grease and says, "Are you sure we can't help?"

Frodo smiles at the dwarf and shakes his head. "No, you stay right there. You are guests, and you shall not rise a finger this morning."

Bilbo's eyebrows are climbing high in surprise. Frodo is a good lad; he helps around the house more than Bilbo could hope for. But he's never been known to turn down help in cooking a meal. This turn in behaviour will require close watching.

Bilbo clears his throat and says, "Well, it's a good thing I am no guest, then."

Kíli turns at Bilbo's voice, a bright smile on his lips. "Bilbo! Good morning."

"It is a good morning indeed," says Bilbo. "Especially if young Frodo here is cooking breakfast."

Frodo turns his face away, and Bilbo imagines that he would see a flush if he were to look.

"We are very glad for Frodo's efforts." Kíli raises his cup in acknowledgement. "And I must admit, it has been far too long since we have smelled bacon as good as this."

"Then we will have to make sure you have your fill." Bilbo bustles to the range, knocking elbows with Frodo as he sets up another pan to fry eggs in.

They fill many plates with heaping piles of fried meats and eggs and breads. Soon the kitchen is filled with the smell of many foods, and the smell must be good indeed, for soon Bofur and Bifur have joined them.

Kíli and Fíli groan somewhat indecently over the sausages, and positively indecently over the bacon, and Bilbo bites his cheeks to hold in a smile at Frodo's startled and flustered reaction.

When they have all eaten their fill and the plates are empty but for the crumbs too small to pick up, the hobbits and dwarves lean back and groan over their full bellies.

"I shan't eat again for three days," whimpers Bofur.

Bifur agrees with a gruff bark of words in Khuzdul.

Frodo looks content to have his hard work appreciated, and as Fíli and Kíli groan and mutter their own appreciation, Frodo nearly beams with pride.

Bilbo watches his ward's reactions and wonders how this will play out. He hopes that Frodo's story will not go as his had all those long years ago.

Though, Bilbo supposes, Kíli and Fíli are no longer the youths that Bilbo knew and described in the long tales of his adventure. They have come into their own over the long years, and Bilbo is most pleased that despite their thickened beards and stiffer movements, their eyes are just as bright as he remembers.

And perhaps they will have avoided their uncles' tendency to stuff feet into their mouths at most inopportune moments.

Whatever the case, they seem to have been immediately drawn to Frodo, and Bilbo hides his amusement in sips of tea. These shall be some very interesting weeks indeed.

–

Bilbo disappears into his study at some point after second breakfast, and Frodo finds himself the sole focus of two of the dwarves' attentions. Bifur and Bofur have wandered away to let their full bellies digest in comfort, but Fíli and Kíli follow Frodo when he makes for the front door.

"I have some errands to carry out today in Hobbiton and Bywater," says Frodo. At Fíli and Kíli's disappointed expressions he adds, "Would you like to join me? Though, I ought to mention, the markets of the Shire are not as impressive as those of Dale."

Kíli grins at Frodo. "We will be happy to accompany you, Frodo."

"And it will be good to see the Shire and it's workings during the light of day," says Fíli.

And so Frodo guides the dwarf men out the door and onto Bagshot Row, feeling a little out of place beside them in their thick garments and heavy boots. Frodo is wearing a simple set of velvet breeches with a linen shirt and bracers. The sun is warm, and he wonders if all of the layers of leather the dwarves are wrapped in are as stifling as they look to be.

But Fíli and Kíli walk as though they are perfectly comfortable.

"How long have you lived with Bilbo?" Fíli asks.

Frodo looks away from his perusal of Kíli's thick boots and into Fíli's eyes. "Since I was twenty-one," Frodo says. "It will be twelve years this spring."

"And before that?" This question is directed by Kíli.

"I lived in Buckleburry in Brandy Hall with my mother's family, the Brandybucks." Frodo guides them down the hill past several hobbit-holes and gardens, always waving as he passes hobbits by their doors or in their fields. "They took me in after my parents died. Some of my cousins lived there as well; it is a large home, more of a mansion really, built into a hill by the Brandywine River."

"Do you have many cousins?" Kíli asks, looking most intrigued.

"Oh yes," says Frodo. "But I am closest with young Merry, Meriadoc Brandybuck. We caused all sorts of trouble in and around Buckland."

"You? Really?"

Frodo looks at Kíli with some amount of amusement. "Oh yes. I was much too rambunctious as a child, always out getting into all sorts of mischief. Farmer Maggot will hold his grudge against me for the rest of his life, I'm sure, after all of the mushrooms I pillaged from his fields." Smirking, Frodo looks in no way ashamed.

Fíli smiles openly. "I can see why Bilbo took you in."

Frodo takes Fíli's statement as the compliments it is meant as.

"And what of Erebor? What is it like?" Frodo asks, looking between the brothers.

Fíli's eyes light up and Kíli smiles at his brother's immediate enthusiasm. Frodo wonders if there is some meaning between their differing reactions.

"There aren't enough words in the languages of Dwarves, Elves or Men to describe the beauty of Erebor," says Fíli. "Our ancestors carved out such splendor within the mountain that it is beyond belief without seeing it with your own eyes."

"Our kin have worked tirelessly since Erebor was reclaimed to return it to its former glory," adds Kíli.

Fíli's face falls a little. "Many of the old ways were lost when Smaug came. We lost a great number of our people, and their crafts with them."

"It has been a very trying time," says Kíli.

"But not without some good." Fíli smiles again. "The retaking of Erebor was not in vain. Gold, silver and gems glitter all about, and there is light from fires and the sound of life in every corner."

They walk the rest of the way with little talk in between, only comments Frodo makes about what is growing in this field or that garden, or about the family living in one hobbit-hole or another breaking the comfortable silence.

They reach the bottom of the Hill when the sun is directly overhead, and the little town of Hobbiton is bustling on either side of the Water. Many of the hobbits going about their business skirt the trio with a wide berth. Even more stop to stare at the dwarves in their fine leathers, metals and boots.

Frodo merely waves and smiles broadly at the more obvious gawkers, sharing a look and a smirk with Fíli and Kíli when he gets particularly scandalized reactions.

Kíli nearly falls over laughing when an older hobbit gentleman dribbles ale all down his front in shock at their appearance.

"You really don't get many visitors here, do you?" Fíli observes.

Laughing, Frodo shakes his head. "Ignore them. They take the sight of outsiders as well as they would the grass turning blue and the sky green."

"Are all hobbits so," Kíli says, and pauses, before finishing, "prudish?"

A woman who happened to hear Kíli's words scowls at them with particular ferocity.

"Not all of us," Frodo says. "Though most well within the borders of the Shire are very much removed from the rest of Middle-earth. Growing up in Buckland was different; there is more need to be cautious there, being so close to the Old Forest. And the Tooks are known to have some adventures of their own."

"It's nice," says Kíli. "That some peoples of Middle-earth live in peace and prosperity."

Frodo nods, but notes the look of wistfulness on Kíli's face. "We are very lucky here. Naïve in some ways, maybe, but it's a good life."

Frodo leads them through the small market in Hobbiton, only stopping to commission some supplies for the birthday party from a vendor selling barrels of ale, before heading further toward Bywater.

It takes them nearly an hour to reach the town of Bywater, and when they do they stop at the first building along the road, _The Green Dragon_. The inn is not so busy or as rambunctious as it would be in the evening, but groups of patrons sit at the tables around the bar.

When they walk in the door the conversations stop.

Fíli and Kíli don't seem to notice, though, and they move to take seats at a table in the corner of the room, both leaning back into their chairs gratefully.

Frodo stops by the bar, says, "Three ales, please," and joins Fíli and Kíli at the table.

Frodo's bum has just barely touched the wood of his seat when a yell sounds out behind him.

"Frodo!"

A grin splits Frodo's face as he spins quickly, arms already thrown out to catch the small body that hurls itself toward him.

"Pip," Frodo says delightedly. "What are you doing out of Tookland?"

The small hobbit, only reaching Frodo's elbow, is curly-haired in the extreme, with a mop of hair that is a light golden colour. "Hello, Frodo," Pippin says. "I heard about Bilbo's dwarves! I wanted to see for myself."

Frodo laughs gently and points across the table at Fíli and Kíli, who are watching with great interest. "Then have a look Pippin-lad," he says. "And don't forget your manners."

Pippin, with all of the energy and enthusiasm of a true Took, rips away from Frodo and walks straight up to Kíli. He stares intently at the dwarf for a moment, his head tilted to the side. "You're really a dwarf?" he asks.

Kíli leans in conspiratorially and says, "Really and truly, Master Hobbit."

Pippin frowns, looking between Kíli and Fíli. "But," he protests, "your beards aren't long and grey and tucked into your belts!"

Frodo chokes a little on a sudden laugh. "Pippin," he admonishes.

Kíli doesn't take offense, instead smiling at the little hobbit and stroking a hand over his beard. "You're quite right; we cannot tuck our beards into our belts," he says. "But have you ever seen ears like these before?" And he pulls his hair back to expose his ears to Pippin.

Pippin reaches out and then pulls his hand back, probably a reaction borne of many, many admonishments, and says, "They're round!" He then runs a finger over his own ear, feeling the pointed tip.

"Indeed," says Fíli. "And we're much too stout to be Men. So what else do you suppose we are if not Dwarves?"

"So you _are_ Mr. Bilbo's dwarves!" Pippin exclaims.

"Pippin! Where are you at, lad?"

The group turns to see a hobbit peering through the sun-brightened entrance to the inn.

Frodo stands immediately and waves. "Paladin, he's over here."

"Peregrin Took, what have I told you about running off?" Paladin says as he reaches the table.

Pippin looks mildly chastised for a moment, but then he says, "But Da! They're the dwarves from Bilbo's stories."

"Are they now?" asks Paladin. He, unlike many of the other hobbits the dwarves have encountered this day, looks interested in their presence.

Frodo points to Fíli and then Kíli. "This is Fíli, and his brother Kíli, hailing from the Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor."

Fíli and Kíli stand and bow shortly. "At your service," they say together, then sit back down.

"Well, I suppose the rumours are true," says Paladin. "It's a pleasure, Master Dwarves. I am Paladin Took of Tookland, and this here is my son, Pippin."

Frodo pulls a chair from a nearby table, and Paladin joins them with a nod of thanks. While he's up, Frodo gathers four mugs of ale from the bar, smiling his thanks at the bartender's thoughtfulness in the presence of the extra ale.

"What brings you to Bywater?" asks Frodo as he sets mugs before Fíli, Kíli and Paladin.

"Oh nothing pressing," says Paladin. "But I gather you are here on business for that party coming soon."

Nodding, Frodo smiles. "It would seem that every day for the next three weeks will be dedicated to party preparations."

"Will there be fireworks?" asks Pippin excitedly. He is sitting to his father's side, and his feet are swinging enthusiastically above the ground.

"I should say so," says Kíli. "We know for a fact that Gandalf has been hard at work to put on quite the show."

"And, I might add, the Dwarves of Erebor have not been remiss about their offerings," says Fíli.

"If the number of packages that we unloaded last night is any indicator, this shall be a party to remember for years to come," says Frodo.

"Will Merry be there?" asks Pippin, his eyes alight at the thought of his cousin.

"I'd imagine so, Pip," says Frodo. "And the rest of Brandy Hall as well."

"And Tuckborough," says Paladin. "You and Mr. Bilbo have the entirety of Tookland in an uproar. I cannot walk within the Great Smials without hearing of it."

Frodo laughs. "Bilbo will be pleased to hear so. He does love giving a celebration, especially one to remember."

"That old Mr. Bilbo just likes causing a ruckus," says Paladin.

"Hm, that's true enough. But I believe he got that quite deservedly from his Took heritage, wouldn't you agree?"

Paladin ruffles Pippin's hair and finishes his mug of ale. "Oh there's no doubting that," he says.

Fíli and Kíli have been watching the exchange of words while taking pulls from their drinks, and they take interest in the familiar terms being used now.

"Bilbo spoke of his Took heritage often on our travels," says Fíli.

"Ah. He would have, at that," Paladin says proudly. "Us Tooks are prone to adventures and mischief, you see, and Bilbo is no exception."

"And a good thing, too," says Kíli before emptying his mug. "We wouldn't have gotten very far without his bravery."

"We wouldn't be here at all, much less with Erebor returned to us, if Gandalf hadn't pushed him out the door of Bag End." Fíli raises his mug as though toasting the event.

"Did he really talk to a dragon?" asks Pippin, looking absolutely delighted at the idea.

"He did. More than once, and lived to tell the tale at that," says Kíli.

The conversation continues in the same vein, with Pippin asking questions and Fíli and Kíli answering, until Frodo drains the last of his own ale and announces that he needs to be seeing to his business.

Paladin stands. "We had best be getting back to Tuckborough now anyhow; it's quite the distance, even with ponies. It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Dwarves," he says.

Kíli looks disappointed to lose their small friend, but smiles at Paladin and Pippin anyway. "It has been most enjoyable," he says.

"We look forward to meeting you again," Fíli says, both to Pippin and Paladin.

"Goodbye," says Frodo. "Be safe on the road home, and send my regards to the Great Smials."

"Of course, Frodo," says Pippin. "I can't wait to tell my sisters that I met Mr. Bilbo's dwarves!"

And so Pippin and Paladin disappear out the door of the inn, leaving Frodo, Fíli and Kíli alone again.

Frodo leads the brothers to the bakery and eateries within Bywater where he leaves requests for food and for the work of the cooks. He then sends missives to even more inns and eateries in the surrounding towns by way of the Quick Post.

By the time they have walked back to Hobbiton and are on their way up Bagshot Row to Bag End, the sky is glowing with the distant sunset, and lights are beginning to flame bright in the windows of hobbit-holes dug into the Hill.

They are tired and hungry when Frodo opens the door to Bag End, and the delicious smell of a hearty supper cooking washes over them and leaves Frodo's mouth watering.

As he shuts the door behind him, Frodo directs a grateful smile at Fíli and Kíli. "I enjoyed your company today very much," he says. "Thank you."

The dwarves smile back at him.

"It was our pleasure, Frodo," says Kíli.

"Thank _you_ for your hospitality." Fíli bows his head, and then indicates for Frodo to precede them toward the kitchen.

"You know," says Kíli as they pass through the hall, "I believe I can still see some dirt on the edge of Bilbo's glory box."

"It never did come clean!" yells Bilbo from the entrance to the kitchen.

Frodo stifles a laugh by biting his lip, and Kíli grins at him slyly. Bilbo ushers them into the kitchen and to the table, where they sit and eat their fill, and the sound of laughter and companionable conversation fills Bag End.


	3. Chapter 3

The third morning at Bag End dawns with the sun bright and warm, and butterflies flitting about the gardens, passing by the window of the guest room and casting shadows on the walls. Fíli's eyes follow their movements lazily as he comes slowly into full wakefulness.

Fíli has woken before his brother as he usually does, and seeing the pleasant skies, leaves Kíli to sleep while he dresses and wanders out into the silence of Bag End. Not even the sound of Bofur's snores can be heard, and Fíli wonders at the peace of it all.

He loves Erebor more than he had ever imagined he would when it was but an unrealized dream painted by the words of his mother and Thorin and Balin and Dwalin. But in the great stone halls there is little peace, not like this, for the official heir to the throne, and he finds that he does not wish to squander or demean this feeling.

However long the simple and unweighted time lasts, whether it be these last few days before Thorin arrives or beyond, he will try to make the most of it. It is something that he has rarely known in many years, and it is freeing.

When he steps out the door it is to the feel of a warm breeze and the smell of grass clippings, the last vestiges of summer clinging to a land in the slow fall into autumn.

He is about to sit on the bench not far from the front door when he hears quiet humming. Curious, he moves toward the source of the simple melody, dodging easily between tall bushes and hedges of flowing plants. Fíli finds the noise coming from the far end of the flower gardens where they border the rows of vegetables, fruits and tubers of the kitchen garden.

Frodo is kneeling in the dirt wearing a raggedy pair of breeches and a linen shirt rolled to his elbows. His hair is hanging about his face, a dark and curling curtain, and he is humming snatches of songs as he works with the plants, his fingers moving nimbly.

Hearing Fíli approach, Frodo falls silent and looks up, squinting into the brightness of the sun. "Good morning," he says.

"Good morning," Fíli echoes. "What are you doing?"

"Just a little weeding," Frodo says, emphasizing his words by pulling a small plant from the ground, careful to get the whole root out.

Fíli moves so that he stands close to Frodo, and then bends at the waist to peer at the many green plants growing from the ground. The various shapes and shades of the leaves are unfamiliar to him, and he wonders at the small differences he can decipher. "Do you not employ a gardener to do this work?" he asks.

Frodo glances at Fíli and smiles. "Sam is an excellent gardener, but like most hobbits, I quite enjoy working in my garden," he says. And then looks a bit sheepish and amends his statement by saying, "At least once in a while."

Fíli watches Frodo work for a time, trying not to cast his shadow into Frodo's way, and eventually Frodo asks, "Would you like to help?"

"I'm afraid I do not know how to work with things that grow. I wouldn't be able to tell whether I was pulling a weed or a wanted plant," Fíli says. And it's quite true. He knows a few plants, things that can be eaten when foraging, and some medicinal herbs, but little more than that.

Not to be deterred, Frodo pats the ground beside him. "Don't worry about that," he says. "I'll teach you."

And so Fíli finds himself kneeling in the dirt and being told of the plants in the gardens of Bag End. Despite that his passion lies in creation from rock and metal, he finds that he enjoys the lesson greatly. Even more, he enjoys the simple and undemanding company.

–

The days blur together at the edges, and the dwarves fall into the routines of Frodo and Bilbo easily.

Party preparations take much of Frodo and Bilbo's time, and they regret not being able to spend all of their days with their guests. But they do find the time to be present for meals, which is no surprise in the case of hobbits, and Bifur, Bofur, Fíli and Kíli join Frodo in several of the errands. Bilbo is more reclusive than his heir, but Frodo is gladdened to see that he comes out of his study more with the dwarves present than without.

Fíli joins Frodo in the gardens each morning for three days, each time learning more of the way of plants, hobbits and of Frodo.

On the third day Frodo and Fíli come in from the garden smiling broadly and covered in dirt. There is a hint of sunburn across the back of Frodo's neck and on the bridge of Fíli's nose, but their eyes are bright and they grin at Kíli when he joins them in the kitchen for breakfast.

Bofur and Bifur join them soon after, and they share the tasks of cooking a large breakfast spread.

Bilbo does not make an appearance this morning, and Frodo frowns at his absence, but shakes his head at Bofur when he offers to fetch the elder hobbit. Instead, Frodo makes up an extra plate to deliver to Bilbo later.

When the plates are scraped clean and the table cleared, Frodo gathers the plate he had set aside for Bilbo, and goes to deliver it. He finds himself faced with a locked door and a reluctant but grateful Bilbo, who is quick to say "good morning" and "thank you" before ducking quickly back into his study.

Frodo hears the door lock behind him.

Trying not to worry too much, though failing quite completely, Frodo leaves to speak with the Gamgees about party preparations on Bagshot Row.

–

Later that afternoon at Bag End finds Fíli and Kíli relaxing in the sitting room with books in their hands and the sound of birdsongs coming in from the open windows.

When a smell too alluring to ignore wafts into the room, Kíli is the first to put his book down and take a deep breath in. Fíli manages to finish his page first before following suit.

Kíli raises his eyebrows in an unasked question, which Fíli nods in response to. They stand together, and Fíli leads them out into the hall and to the kitchen.

When they arrive, Kíli pokes his head in. He is surprised to find Frodo watching the oven raptly rather than Bilbo, who had done most of the baking so far.

Shrugging at Fíli, Kíli straightens and wanders into the kitchen. "What are you making, Frodo?"

Frodo turns and smiles in greeting. "Spiced apple and pumpkin muffins," he says. "You're just in time. They'll be ready in a minute or two."

"They smell amazing." Kíli sits at the table, leaning toward the oven and inhaling deeply.

"Good," says Frodo. "I managed to pick up a few extra bags of apples when I was out this morning, and truly, the Gaffer is not one to turn down offers from."

"That would be the gardener, right?" Kíli asks.

"Well, Sam does most of the work now that his father is getting on in age, but the Gaffer worked for Bilbo here at Bag End for many years."

Frodo peers into the oven and nods, then opens the door and pulls a pan with muffins from its depths. The baked goods are a dark golden brown with chunks of apple and flecks of spice decorating them.

The moment that Frodo has removed the muffins from the pan, a hand snatches out and takes one.

Kíli hisses as he tosses the muffin from hand to hand, and Fíli is snickering at him in the background.

"You might want to let that cool before you-" Frodo starts to warn, but cuts off as Kíli stuffs half of the muffin into his mouth all at once.

"Oh it's good," Kíli groans, even as he chews fast and with his mouth open because of the heat, and then stuffs the other half in too.

Soon both brothers are gorging on the muffins, and Frodo watches with some mixture of amusement and mild disbelief. He might have been less obvious in his staring, but there is a crumb caught on the edge of Kíli's beard near his lower lip, and Frodo's eyes track the movement of his tongue when he licks it away.

Less than a moment later he catches himself being completely enraptured by the sight of Fíli licking his fingers clean.

When Fíli and Kíli come up for air, there is a pitifully small amount of muffins left.

"Go ahead," says Frodo when he notices Fíli eyeing one of the last of the muffins.

Fíli hesitates momentarily, but snatches another muffin anyway. Kíli does the same right after.

"You don't want to save some for the others?" asks Fíli.

Frodo shakes his head. "No. If you two are enjoying them, eat as many as you like."

Had they been watching, Fíli and Kíli would have seen the blush that paints Frodo's cheeks. They do, however, catch the self-satisfied grin that adorns his face when they polish off the last of the muffins, leaving none for anyone else.

–

Supper that evening is a simple affair, though no less filled to the brim with mugs of ale and plates full of meats and potatoes.

No one mentions the one presence that is absent at the table again, though their eyes often stray to the door of the kitchen and down the hall.

When he has cleared his plate, Frodo brings refills of ale to the table and sets them in front of Bifur, Fíli and Bofur, then fills his plate with more foods. He finds that his appetite is flourishing with the company of the dwarves, who eat more than any hobbit Frodo has ever met does.

"We'll be running out of ale soon. Pipe weed, too," says Frodo absently, thinking back to the keg that had rung hollow as he knocked at its side. "And with two more guests coming I don't think there will be near enough. Do Dwalin and your uncle drink very much?"

Kíli raises his ale in acknowledgment. "Not so much as to be unseemly, but we do like our ale. And I do not think that Dwalin will appreciate an empty keg after the long months on the road. Will the market be open tomorrow?" he asks.

Frodo inclines his head. "It will. Would you like to accompany me? There won't be need for heavy work, as the kegs can be delivered, but the walk will be nice."

Bofur swallows a mouthful and says, "I'm afraid we've made plans to visit Bywater tomorrow." He indicates himself and his cousin. Bifur does not even acknowledge them, completely focused on devouring his meal.

"We'll join you," says Kíli with a smile. He looks toward Fíli, and the edges of his mouth drop.

Fíli is staring at his plate, and his brows are furrowed in thought and worry. He suddenly looks older than he has in days.

"Is everything all right?" Frodo asks in concern.

Fíli looks up, and he seems surprised to be addressed. "Yes. Of course. I was just lost in thought." And with that his face clears of worry and settles into lightness again.

Kíli looks like he might say something, but then shakes his head minutely. "We've decided to go and get more supplies tomorrow," he says to Fíli. "Can't have us running out of ale, now can we?"

"No indeed," agrees Fíli.

Frodo watches Fíli throughout the rest of the meal, his mind drawing back to the change in the blonde's demeanor earlier. It was as though a great and heavy weight had landed on Fíli's shoulders, and he had been struggling to lift it away. And even though Fíli is now focused in the present and smiling, there is something not quite right.

Perhaps he is imagining it, thinks Frodo, but then he sees Kíli eyeing his brother now and then, and knows he isn't the only one to worry.

–

After supper is finished and the mess cleaned, Frodo makes his way to the study.

Frodo has not seen Bilbo since early that morning when he had delivered the plate of food to him, and he approaches the door to the study with apprehension. He is greatly relieved, however, when he finds the door cracked open and the light from the hearth within spilling into the hall.

He knocks lightly on the wood of the door and peeks his head inside the room. "Uncle Bilbo?" he asks.

"Oh hello Frodo," says Bilbo. The elder hobbit sits in the chair at his writing desk, once again surrounded by his many papers and books and writing implements.

"How are the invitations coming?" Frodo closes the door behind him and sits at a chair in the corner of the room near the fire; it does not afford a clear view of what Bilbo is working on, but allows Frodo to watch the side of Bilbo's face as he continues to write.

"I think I shall write until my fingers fall off for this occasion," laughs Bilbo. "But I am through the most of it."

"That is good to hear. The post offices will be cursing the business I imagine." Frodo eyes the leaning stacks of invitations with some incredulity. There really are quite a lot of them.

Bilbo snorts. "Of that I have no doubt."

The conversation wanes for some time, and Frodo wrings his hands and shifts in his seat until at last Bilbo puts down his quill and turns to face the young hobbit fully.

"What is it that you wanted to speak of, Frodo? You didn't come just to see the state of the invitations," Bilbo says knowingly.

Licking his lips, Frodo starts and stops speaking a few times, and his face burns with a flush of red.

"Oh spit it out, lad!" says Bilbo. "It cannot be that bad."

"No, not bad," agrees Frodo. "It's just that I had been wondering about some Dwarvish customs."

Humming, Bilbo leans toward Frodo. "And why haven't you asked any of our visitors? I've no doubt that Fíli and Kíli would answer any questions you have, except perhaps that of their true names. And Bofur, well, he'll keep you informed well and beyond what you want to know." Bilbo purposefully does not list Bifur, who rarely even speaks in Khuzdul anymore.

"Oh I'm sure they would be most helpful," says Frodo. His wide blue eyes glint in the light of the fire, and he swallows a little uncertainly before he continues to speak. "It's that I don't want to offend them, and I thought you might know that which I am curious about."

"Ah," says Bilbo and leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together.

The movement is that of a hobbit that should look much older than he, and it highlights to Frodo how very young Bilbo looks for his age.

"You are curious about the courting customs of Dwarves, hm?"

Frodo's ears join his face in flushing, and he nods his head. He shouldn't be surprised that Bilbo has noticed, even with the little amount of time he spends out of his study, he really shouldn't. But he is.

"As far as I am aware, dwarves are often times consumed by their work and some don't ever take partners. As for those who do, there are few dwarf women among their numbers, and companionship among men is not taboo."

"And what of… multiple partners?"

"That I do not know, lad," says Bilbo. "But I would imagine that Fíli and Kíli do."

Despite Bilbo's obvious hint for him to ask more knowledgeable sources, Frodo continues and asks, "I just - do you suppose I am to choose?"

"Choose?" Bilbo hums in thought. "No, I don't think you will. Fíli and Kíli are very close; I do not believe that they would do much in this world without the other."

Frodo doesn't bring up the relationship between Fíli and Kíli; he is not sure of the extent of that yet, and he would prefer to ask the brothers themselves on the matter.

"And what are your thoughts, Uncle?" Frodo asks, and there is hope and hesitance in equal measure in his voice.

"Me?" Bilbo shakes his head. "Frodo, my dear lad, I am not one who you should worry about. You do what is in your heart to do, and you ignore anyone who tells you otherwise."

Frodo finds himself smiling, though he worries that he won't be able to ignore everything that could be thrown his way. "Like a true Baggins, then," he says.

"Precisely," Bilbo says.

"Thank you." Frodo stands and looks at Bilbo, trying to show his gratitude and affection through his eyes. "I will always value your advice, you know."

Bilbo nods and gifts Frodo with a hint of a smile, and then turns back to his work. "And I am glad to give it." His shoulders slump a little. "Shut the door behind you please, lad."

Frodo leaves Bilbo to his own devices, but he can't stop thinking of the way Bilbo's face had fallen before he had fully turned away. Deep regret seemed to carve bags beneath his eyes, and sorrow thinned his lips away. And beneath it all, something darker. Some unnamed pain that Frodo cannot decipher.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Fíli does not join Frodo in the garden, and Frodo tries not to be too disappointed. He waits for the dwarf to arrive for some long moments, face turned to the sun and feet planted firmly in the dirt, before turning to the garden with a sigh. He works for a time, but finds that the task is not as fulfilling as it usually is.

Frodo's thoughts spiral about, and though he tries to focus on his task, he wonders where Fíli is, and whether he has simply overslept, or if he has tired of their morning visits. When he realizes that he has already pulled three very much wanted vegetable plants from the ground because of his distraction, he decides to go inside. There is no use even trying to focus.

So he cleans up and changes into more respectable clothing, and then makes his way to the kitchen.

For the first time, Frodo finds that the only person there is Bifur, who has a steaming cup of tea held in his hands. Frodo smiles and says "good morning" to which Bifur responds with a grunt.

Thinking that he might prepare something light for first breakfast, Frodo turns to the stove in thought. He is surprised then, when a platter of bread and jam comes into sight.

Frodo looks at Bifur, who stares right back, and then he gives the dwarf a smile as he collects the platter and places it on the table between them.

"This is lovely," says Frodo as he sits. The bread is expertly cut, some pieces even shaped, and arranged in a series of circular formations. Several dollops of jam sit to one side, each with a spreading knife. The work is delicate and careful, and Frodo recognises the skill of a dedicated craftsman.

Bifur nods in thanks, then reaches out to grab a piece of bread with jam. It would seem that he has been waiting for company to partake in eating breakfast.

Frodo follows suit and digs in, enjoying the food, and the company as well. Bifur may not speak in any tongue that Frodo can understand, but he is easy to sit with in companionable silence.

Kíli joins them a while later, looking well rested and relaxed. He doesn't bother with greetings, just plops down at the table and starts eating.

After chewing down two or three slices, Kíli suddenly pauses and looks around. "Where's Fíli?" he asks, mouth full and voice muffled.

Frodo shrugs and pulls the food he had been about the take a bite from away from his mouth. "I haven't seen him."

Kíli's thick brows rise in surprise. "No? Hm."

Bifur says something and jerks his head toward the door.

"He's with Bofur?" Kíli frowns briefly, then continues with his breakfast. "Wonder what they're up to."

Frodo's face creases in his own frown, but he shakes his head lightly and tries to perish any negative thought. Who is he to question or begrudge Fíli and Bofur for their comings and goings, after all.

They are not joined by any of the others for first breakfast, and after they have finished eating, Frodo gathers a plate of leftovers to deliver to Bilbo.

When he turns the corner toward the study, Frodo finds Bofur standing in the hall, eyes fixed on the shut door. Bofur is alone, and the dwarf looks as though he would like to break the wooden barrier down and extract Bilbo from his papery nest through force.

Frodo knows the feeling well, and he finds that he would like to speak with Bofur. Bilbo has spoken of Bofur as a close friend and a good dwarf who is of a cheery disposition, and who has a particular flair for humour and teasing.

Bofur breaks his gaze from the study door when Frodo approaches, and he smiles at Frodo in greeting. The expression does not reach his eyes as effortlessly as it had just days before, and his moustache only twitches a little with the movement.

"Mister Bofur, can I tempt you with a cup of tea?" Frodo asks. He wonders if Bofur knows something of why Bilbo has been acting so oddly lately. Whether or not he himself will manage to ease the dwarf's mind is another matter altogether, though.

"That would be a kindness, young Master Baggins," Bofur says.

"Just Frodo, please."

Bofur smiles at Frodo and nods. "Of course."

Frodo knocks on the door and listens for footsteps or Bilbo's voice, and hearing nothing, he sets the plate beside the door. "There's a plate of food for you, Uncle," he calls through the wood. As he turns away, Frodo meets Bofur's eyes and they share a look of concern.

They make their way to the kitchen in silence, the usual comfortable camaraderie that Frodo has found with the dwarves shadowed by their mutual thoughts. The kitchen is empty when they arrive, Kíli and Bifur having gone outside to enjoy a smoke.

They do not speak as Frodo readies the kettle to boil and Bofur gathers cups and a plate of scones. It is not until they are sat across from one another with nothing to occupy them or to put off the words any longer that Frodo speaks.

"He's been locking himself in there for months. And, well, I know it is something more than his plans and maps that keep him there." Frodo swallows and his brows pinch together. "Bilbo is changing and there is something different that I find I cannot place."

Bofur makes a noise of acknowledgement. "Aye. I've seen it these last few days. And whatever it is can't be explained away as age or some other nonsense."

Frodo runs a fingertip around the rim of his tea cup, watching the play of shadow and light on the inside. "No, you're right. He's tired, like he carries a great burden that has no respite, and the weight of it is too much to bear."

Bofur frowns thoughtfully, and there is a great sadness in his eyes.

"I had thought that he was just preoccupied with his plans to travel, that maybe he was lost in his memories and his need to go back to those places he speaks about. See the many friends he misses so very much." That said, Frodo looks to Bofur.

"You know what he has planned?"

Frodo shrugs. "I've known for a long while now that he had thought to leave, but it wasn't until, well, until you arrived that I was certain."

The kettle sings in the hearth and Frodo lifts it from the fire with a potholder and pours the steaming water into the teapot.

When he sits back down, Frodo finds Bofur lost in his own thoughts, eyes distant. "I had thought Bilbo would get better with your presence, but," Frodo says, trailing into silence.

"But nothing has changed," says Bofur.

"Yes," say Frodo, and his eyes drop to the table.

"Could it be," Bofur says then hesitates.

Frodo looks up again in question.

"Could it be that he is lonely?"

Frodo stares into Bofur's kindly eyes and understands the question for what it is. There are many forms of companionship, and both he and Bilbo are bachelors not of want for it, but because of circumstance. "I don't know. He's never spoken of it, and honestly, I've never known him to seek the company of another."

Bofur nods and hums. He has a look in his eyes like there is something he wishes to say, but thinks better of it in the end.

"But," Frodo says, "I worry that it is something more. Something deeper and more pervasive than that. It seems that nothing helps, and nothing I do or think to do will fill the hole that has settled in his heart."

"I do not know, either. I think, perhaps, the best we can do is wait."

Frodo's face falls, and he purses his lips against the sorrow that settles in his gut. "I do not believe I will get the chance to see what happens, not before… Well, before he leaves, I suppose."

Bofur doesn't say anything in response to that, and instead pours them both a cup of tea, which they sip at, each lost to their own thoughts.

–

When Frodo leaves Bofur in the kitchen to find Fíli and Kíli, thinking to head to Hobbiton, neither of their minds have been eased. The sight of the full plate of food still sitting in the hall churns apprehension in Frodo's chest, and if he were a more daring soul he would knock until Bilbo had no choice but to answer.

But he is not, and instead he makes for outside. As he is about to open the door, however, the sound of voices, muffled and distorted by the wood, gives him pause. He cannot understand any of the words spoken, no matter how hard he focuses, and Frodo shakes his head and admonishes himself for even trying.

He opens the door and is greeted with the sight of Fíli and Kíli standing close together. Kíli's hands are settled on Fíli's shoulders and their foreheads are pressed together as they speak in low tones. The scene is intimate, and Frodo wishes that he had not interrupted it.

The brothers pull apart when they hear the door open and Kíli gives Fíli's shoulders a parting squeeze, then looks to Frodo. "Are you ready to go?" he asks.

Frodo nods slowly and closes the door behind him. "Yes," he says. "Though, I don't mind going alone if you would like to stay."

"No," Fíli says quickly. "We're happy to join you."

Kíli smiles and nods at him, and Frodo knows there is something that he has missed, something to do with Fíli's sudden change. But he does not know what it is, and he doesn't think that it is his place to ask.

So he gives himself an internal shake and grins at Fíli and Kíli. "That's good. Shall we go?"

They make their way down the Hill toward Hobbiton, though they do not make it more than halfway down Bagshot Row when a voice interrupts them.

"Mr. Frodo! Are you needing any tending in the gardens today?" Sam, who is in the fields adjacent Bagshot Row, leans at the fence and watches the group with suspicion in his eyes.

Frodo grins at Sam, waving even as he shakes his head. "No, Sam. Not today. How is your Gaffer?"

"He's well, thank you sir. Begging your pardon, but are you heading to market?"

"That we are, Sam," Frodo says.

Sam looks doubtfully between the dwarves that flank Frodo. "Will you be needing some help, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo smiles at Sam, amused and grateful of the hobbit's concern. "We will be fine, Sam. Go ahead and get back to your work."

"If you're sure," says Sam hesitantly. He looks as though he would like very much to jump the fence and place himself between Frodo and the dwarves.

Kíli, amused and perhaps a little offended on his and his brother's behalf, says, "We are."

"We'll take good care of your Mr. Frodo," says Fíli.

Sam looks like he might have something to say about that, but with one final look of hesitant acceptance he goes back to work.

Fíli and Kíli find great amusement in the way they can see Sam throwing them looks over his shoulder the entire time they are headed down the road until they are out of sight.

The rest of their day is pleasant enough, but the uneasy air about Fíli does not dissipate, and more often than not he lags just a little behind, and only joins in the conversations when spoken to first. It makes for some awkward moments, and leaves more than one unfilled silence, but they do what they set out to do.

–

For the first time in several days Kíli is not alone in the best guest bedroom at Bag End when he awakes. Fíli's bed has been empty, the sheets rumpled with use, each morning for days, and Kíli has found Fíli dirtied from work in the garden, or off with Bofur like the morning before.

But this morning Fíli is sitting up in bed, leaning into the headboard and reading a book.

Kíli has watched his brother grow despondent as the week trails to an end, and sees the confusion and mild hurt in Frodo's eyes when Fíli brushes his company aside. Fíli is not cruel or unfriendly, but whereas he had spent much of his time with Frodo before, he has spent the last day and a half avoiding the hobbit.

They have fallen thoughtlessly into their attraction to Frodo, though Kíli knows that their actions are not those of a simple fit of fancy; they are quite serious in their intentions. But Fíli is bound by his duties more than Kíli is, and should Fíli act without great discretion he could come upon trouble that reaches further than himself.

Fíli's devotion must be first to his people. It is a lesson they have learned harshly in the last sixty years, and one that has pressed down upon Fíli like a lead weight. And sometimes this means taking a step back from doing what one wants.

It pains Kíli to know that his brother is restraining himself now. But he understands the need for it, and will not speak of it until Thorin arrives.

They will have much to speak of then.

Kíli leaves Fíli to his book, sad to see his brother look so old. But Fíli does not need his company right now, and Kíli will allow him the solitude.

Once he has left the room, Kíli finds that he may have slept longer than he had thought, as the sun is high in the sky, and Bag End is silent. He has missed first breakfast, but perhaps not second breakfast.

There is no one in the kitchen when Kíli pokes his head in to check, though there is a platter of cheese and bread on the table, which he falls upon gratefully.

Kíli eats his full of the food on the table, and several apples from a basket on the windowsill besides. There is still hot coffee in a pot hanging over the burned-down hearth, which he fairly inhales.

Satisfied with his full stomach, Kíli then makes to find where everyone else has gone.

There is no one along the way back to the guest bedrooms, and Kíli glances into his and Fíli's room and sees his brother looking out the window, deep within his own mind. He lingers for a moment, then leaves.

It will be heartening when Thorin arrives and some of Fíli's worries can be assuaged. Kíli does not even contemplate the other options of how their meeting will go.

As he approaches the entrance hall Kíli's eyes fall to his bow and quiver where there are laid on a bench, and an idea forms in his mind. It would be good to focus his energy for the day, and a little hunting is the perfect outlet.

He has his bow and quiver in hand when he hears rustling from down the hall. He grabs his cloak from its hook, noting that Bifur and Bofur's are missing, then makes to see who is about.

Kíli comes upon the sitting room and sees that Frodo is sitting in a corner near a bookshelf, deeply focused on a book. The hobbit is absently mouthing words as he reads, sometimes muttering them aloud. The rustling he heard was the turning of pages.

Kíli pauses in the door, watching Frodo and enjoying the way he trails a finger under a line of words on the page, and chews his bottom lip between muttering whole sentences aloud. Kíli cannot catch the words, and those that are loud enough to be fully heard are foreign to his ears, the vowels flowing oddly from Frodo's tongue.

It is when he has stood silently for many minutes that Kíli pieces together the foreign language in his memory.

"You speak the language of the Elves?" Kíli walks into the room and stands next to Frodo's chair so he can look down at the book as well.

Frodo starts, eyes gone wide as his head shoots upward to look at Kíli. "Sindarin, yes. I've been learning Quenya as well." Frodo gestures to the many books lining the shelves beside him. "Bilbo has been teaching me since I came to Bag End."

"Thorin would have something to say about that," mutters Kíli.

"I've heard of the dislike that he holds for Elves," says Frodo, and his lips twitch a little in amusement. "Is it so strong even after all this time?"

"Yes. Though 'dislike' is a kind term indeed for the feelings my uncle holds toward Elves." Kíli picks a book from a shelf and leafs through it, pausing only a few seconds per page if at all, and then puts it back in its place. He glances at Frodo, who is watching him with interest, and asks, "And what do you have planned for today, Frodo?"

"Ah, well, for the first time in days I find myself without any business to conduct at all," says Frodo.

Kíli, having already gathered his gear, throws his quiver over his shoulder, tightens his grip on his bow, and fixes Frodo with his eyes. "I thought to hunt for our evening meal. Would you like to join me?"

Frodo nods. "I would like that very much," he says as he stands and places the book back in the shelf.

Frodo gathers a thick travelling coat, a rucksack and two skins of water, then joins Kíli in walking out of the door of Bag End.

They head north along Bagshot Row past Overhill and to a forestry just south of the border into the North Farthing. It is nearly an hour of walking until they reach a small stream, beside which is a thick stand of trees that lines a path through the woods where many animal tracks can be seen.

"We should set up here," says Kíli, pointing to an area where they will be hidden from the path, but from where they can see down it each way.

They hunker down in the brush after Kíli has strung his bow and wait.

In just over three hours Kíli has shot four grouse, and though they have seen a few larger animals, such as a deer and a fox, they do not take them.

The grouse are not large birds, and Kíli mutters to himself about the merits of keeping some of the feathers for fletching, but they fit nicely into the sack Frodo has. They save the processing of the birds for when they return to Bag End.

With no need for more, Kíli and Frodo walk in the woods by the stream, talking idly about the differences in the landscape of the Shire and the Lonely Mountain.

"To be honest," says Kíli, "I spent the first half of my life in the Blue Mountains, and Erebor has… taken some time to get used to."

Frodo looks at Kíli, taking in the deep browns of his eyes in the sunlight, and the way his mouth moves as he absently gnaws at his lips. There is little sign of age on the dwarf, perhaps a lighter glint here or there in his short but thick beard that may be grey, but nothing else.

"Do you miss Ered Luin?" asks Frodo.

Kíli tilts his head and furrows his brow in thought. "Sometimes," he says. "But Erebor is a good home. There is good work for our people, and there is such a sense of _belonging. _ It is a relief after so long wandering Middle-earth as we did."

"I've never been outside of the Shire, and I have never suffered like the dwarves of Erebor did in losing their home," Frodo says, and hesitates before continuing. "But I know something of loss, and of finding a place in the world." He thinks of losing his parents, of living in Brandy Hall among all of his relations, and then of living with Bilbo these last years. "I'm glad you got it back."

Kíli nods, then points as he looks to the ground. "If there is one thing that is not different in the Shire from anywhere I've been in all of the world, it is the abundance of mushrooms."

Ears perking at the thought of mushrooms, Frodo follows Kíli's gesture and sees a large patch of shaggy mane mushrooms. He pulls a small sack from his bag and kneels, collecting several of the young mushrooms that have little black on them.

"What are you doing?" Kíli kneels next to Frodo, eyebrows raised high in question.

Frodo nods at the mushrooms. "They will go good with dinner. Though I don't think there will be enough for everyone."

Kíli's lip curls. "For dinner?"

"Of course," says Frodo. "You do eat mushrooms, don't you?"

"Well sometimes, if the need were there to forage and not a lot of game were to be found. But not willingly, nor so gleefully," Kíli says. He eyes the mushrooms that Frodo has packed away with distrust.

"Oh," says Frodo. "I can assure you that these are quite good. And a speciality in the Shire, to be sure."

Standing when he is satisfied with his haul, Frodo nearly jumps back, for he didn't judge his distance from Kíli when he stood, and he is standing a mere handbreadth away from the dwarf. Kíli's height leaves Frodo staring yet again at his lips, and the hobbit blushes and steps back awkwardly.

Clearing his throat, Frodo says, "Doesn't your beard get in the way?" At the odd look he receives in return, Frodo continues. "I mean when you are using your bow. Doesn't it get caught up?"

Kíli's lips quirk up in one corner and he shakes his head. "Not terribly, though once in a while I yank a hair out. It's not so bad, really. It's not even all that long." He raises an eyebrow. "Don't you like it?"

"What, your beard?" Frodo's eyes flicker between Kíli's eyes and facial hair. "Yes. Yes, of course. It's very… full."

"Full," says Kíli, deadpan. "That's one way to say it." Taking pity on Frodo, who seems to be floundering a bit, he asks, "Had you ever used a bow before?"

Frodo shakes his head. "No. Though many of my older cousins have hunting bows, and I've seen them practice on occasion."

"Would you like to try?"

They find a small clearing along the stream and face into the trees. Kíli points out a particularly broad one that is a short distance away, and demonstrates how to stand, hold the bow, nock the arrow, draw, anchor and release.

And then Kíli nocks the arrow on the bow string and hands it to Frodo. "Take your three middle fingers and curl them over the string like this," he says, and shows Frodo. "Keep the arrow here." He adjusts Frodo's grip.

He steps back from Frodo and turns to the side. "Stand so that your weak arm is facing the target, and lift the bow. No, don't raise your shoulder, keep it straight."

Frodo's arm shakes when he draws the bow, and the string digs into his fingers deeply. He keeps two fingers under the arrow and one above on the string, and pulls until his index finger rests on the corner of his mouth, as Kíli has demonstrated.

"Now just take a breath and look down the line of the arrow. Focus on what you want to hit," Kíli instructs. "And release."

The first arrow is so poorly aimed that it sails through the air far to the left of where Frodo had been aiming, disappearing into the forest. As Frodo lowers his arms, he wonders how hard it will be to find. At least the fletching is a bright yellow.

Frodo smiles uncertainly at Kíli, who looks unsurprised. "I'm afraid my fingers are more adept at holding pens than arrows," Frodo says.

Kíli hums, taking one of Frodo's hands in both of his and inspecting the thin fingers. Kíli's hands aren't particularly large for a dwarf, but they double Frodo's in sheer mass alone, though his fingers are just barely longer.

"It may just be that you need a bow that is easier to draw, and made for shorter arms," Kíli says. When he looks up from his inspection, Frodo is staring at him with his bright blue eyes and his mouth is parted just enough to see a hint of teeth beyond his lips.

Stroking once more over Frodo's palm, Kíli lets Frodo's hand go.

Frodo pulls his hand toward his body, his other hand instinctively moving to touch where Kíli had just seconds before.

"Would you like to try again?" Kíli asks.

Frodo nods. Once he has nocked the arrow, he curls his fingers over the bow string, brings up both arms, and draws his right hand back, eyes focused on the tree not too far away. He releases a breath and tries to ignore the weight and strain of drawing the bow, before releasing his grip on the string all at once.

The sudden burning, stinging pain that races over his arm and pushes a pained shout from his mouth is so surprising that he drops the bow. He immediately slaps a hand over his left forearm and hunches over it protectively.

Kíli is at his side instantly, his hands on Frodo's shoulder and arm, trying to get him to uncurl.

"I didn't think," says Kíli. "I should have known. I'm sorry Frodo."

In less than half a minute the pain has lessened from a sharp singing over his skin to a deep and fiery throb that waxes and wanes with his rapid heartbeat, and Frodo straightens back up, taking comfort from Kíli's hand rubbing over his shoulder.

"Was that from the string?" Frodo asks, almost unable to believe that such a pain could be caused from the thin line he had pulled back. It feels like his arm has been branded with a hot iron.

"Yes," says Kíli, taking Frodo's arm and pulling it away from the hobbit's chest. He unbuttons the cuff of Frodo's shirt and carefully rolls up the material. Frodo hisses as the fiber of his shirt touches his upper forearm, and Kíli winces in sympathy. "I didn't even think that I should give you a bracer."

Once his arm is exposed, Frodo can see a large welt lifting from just below the crook of his arm, the area already bruising in purples and dark blues.

"It's a common enough danger among new archers, but I hadn't thought of it at all." Kíli reaches out and just barely brushes by the injury, the blood-swollen flesh hot to the touch.

"Well," says Frodo, chuckling, "I don't imagine I'll ever forget again." Frodo gently pulls his arm from Kíli's hold, the similarity to the events just moments before not lost on him. "Though it isn't too bad. Quite the surprise, though."

"Nonetheless, I am sorry to have forgotten," Kíli says, frowning.

"No need to worry about it," Frodo says. "And look; it would seem that my aim improved greatly this time." He points to the tree he had aimed at, where the arrow is lodged. Another inch to the right and it would have sailed past and into the forest.

Kíli laughs and smiles at Frodo. "Indeed it did," he says with a laugh. Looking down at Frodo's arm, he says, "But perhaps we should continue the lesson another day."

"Agreed," says Frodo.

They stay in the woods for another twenty or so minutes, enjoying the breeze that rustles through the trees and the sound of the creek as the water rushes by. When they leave, the sun's beams are glancing off the tops of the trees as it drops toward the horizon, and their shadows stretch out beside them over waving grasses and small pebbles in the ground.

When they have passed Overhill and their return trip is almost complete, Frodo glances at Kíli. "Kíli, I hope you don't mind me asking, but is Fíli all right?"

Kíli tries to look reassuring as he says, "He's fine. As the heir to the throne of Erebor he has always been burdened with more responsibility. He is only plagued by his thoughts and duties."

Frodo frowns, then puts his hand on Kíli's arm. "If there is anything I can do," he says, face set and sincere.

"That is appreciated more than you know."

–

That evening a knock once again sounds on the door of Bag End. It is after supper and they have retired to the sitting room to smoke and drink, and it is the first time in many days that Bilbo has joined them.

Frodo stands immediately to answer, but Bilbo waves at him to sit back down and says, "Don't bother, lad."

Knowing who Bilbo hopes will be at the door, Frodo complies without a word.


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo walks down the hall and through to the door with obvious restraint. When he gets there he stares at the door with the most apprehension he has ever felt; even the warm brown of the wood seems to be foreboding.

Bilbo's hands shake when he reaches forward, and there is sweat on his palm that makes him grip the door handle all that more tightly.

Well, he thinks, it'll be like a stitch to a wound; get it over quick, and forget the anticipation after.

And so he yanks the door open – later he'll think back and remember the last time he did so with dwarves at his door and smile – and finds that he needs to crane his neck to look into the person's face.

Dwalin's massive form takes up the whole of the doorway, and he doesn't hesitate before pushing his way inside.

Bilbo backs up to give him room, and his eyebrows raise high when Dwalin grabs his shoulder and stares at him intently. Bilbo instinctively mirrors the action, his much smaller hand taking hold of some of the fur upon Dwalin's massive shoulders. He finds that he is smiling.

There is a brightness in his chest, like the sun rising on the horizon after a long twilight, blues and pinks and reds overtaking the blackness of night.

Dwalin stares at Bilbo for a moment, then bares his teeth in a grin while he squeezes Bilbo's shoulder. "Well met, burglar," he says. And then he sheds his travel cloak, hangs it on a hook, and disappears down the halls of Bag End, muttering about fried fish and ale.

Bilbo stares after Dwalin's hulking form and shakes his head in wry amusement. "Some things never change," he says ponderously.

"Indeed not."

At Thorin's words, Bilbo jumps and turns back to the door with an absent "oh" on his lips.

Thorin stands in the doorway much as he had sixty years earlier. His hair is more inclined to be silver streaked with dark than the reverse, and his face contains more in the way of wrinkles, especially about his eyes. But he stands just as proudly, and the same fire blazes in his eyes. Age has suited him, and he seems all the more powerful for it.

Thorin's beard has grown long, and has been intricately woven with braids and silver beads that cap the ends; the glinting metal is the only hint of the wealth of Erebor in all of its rebuilt glory.

"It has been a long time, my friend," says Thorin, stepping into Bag End and grasping Bilbo's shoulders and smiling warmly.

"Too long," Bilbo says.

Tears are gathering in the corners of Bilbo's eyes and he smiles through them. Thorin's face is a welcome sight, one that he never thought he would see again. Indeed, before Balin and Gandalf visited after the Quest of Erebor, Bilbo had thought his less than joyous departure would be followed by never seeing any of the Company of Dwarves again.

That Thorin is standing before him now, a smile on his face, is such a balm to his worry that Bilbo thinks he could breathe easy for the rest of his days.

Bilbo doesn't speak often of what his last days among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had been like, especially not of the utter betrayal in Thorin's eyes. The way the Dwarven King had threatened to send arrows into him if he didn't leave his sight, and called him by no kindly names.

Later, there had been few words after the battle was done. Bilbo has often wondered how his departure could have gone, had their circumstances been different. But they were not, and he left Erebor not as an enemy of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, but neither was he deemed a friend.

Only the long years between and his continued correspondence with several of the company had assuaged his shame and self-imposed exile from the Lonely Mountain.

Now, looking at Thorin, he thinks that perhaps those old hurts may begin to heal.

"I am glad you have come," Bilbo says.

Thorin unclasps his cloak and folds it over his arm. "I should have liked to come long ago, but I am afraid that journeys such as this are not lightly taken when there is a Kingdom to care for."

"I cannot imagine," says Bilbo, taking Thorin's cloak, the same blue as before, and hangs it. "Lets us get some food and drink into you; I'm sure you'll enjoy putting your feet up after so long on the road."

With that, Bilbo leads Thorin down the hall.

When they come upon the sitting room it is to the sight of Dwalin staring down at Frodo from where he has leaned against the wall, a half-emptied mug of ale in his hand.

Dwalin is so large that Frodo has to lean back to meet his eyes, and Bilbo can tell that Dwalin's stern face and brash demeanor makes Frodo feel very small. The large dwarf could probably squash Frodo between his massive palms, after all.

"You'll be the nephew, then," Dwalin says. "What's your name, laddie?"

Frodo lifts his chin despite his instinct to hunch down, and Bilbo feels pride in his chest for his nephew.

"Frodo Baggins. At your service." The greeting is adequate, but curt and not accompanied by a bow or the full words that one might use in politeness.

Bilbo stifles a chuckle.

"How do you know of me?" asks Frodo.

Dwalin crosses his arms, the mug of ale held by its handle with one finger at his side, and the light of the room highlights the thick ropes of scar tissue that crosses over his forearms. "Bilbo wrote to Balin to you," he says.

At that Frodo simply says, "Ah," and looks to Bilbo, who has gone unnoticed in the doorway so far.

Bilbo and Thorin enter the sitting room now, and all of the dwarves except Dwalin bow their heads at Thorin. Even Fíli and Kíli, though they are smiling in familiar welcome.

"I have not had so many dwarves in my smial for many a year," says Bilbo. "I am all too happy to have all of you here now, I daresay."

Frodo looks to Bilbo and says, "There used to be rumours of your 'strange' guests all the way in Brandy Hall. But I had almost thought them to be just that – rumours."

"Ah my dear Frodo, it has been more than twenty years since the last visit."

Kíli leans forward on his chair. "Balin spoke of travelling this way long ago."

"Ah yes, wonderful Balin," says Bilbo, smiling and thinking of his dear friend. "He visited several times in the early years, but I'm afraid those times slowed to a stop many years ago now." He now looks to Dwalin. "How does Balin fare?" he asks.

The dwarves' faces turn solemn, and many, including Bofur, drop their gazes to the ground.

"We do not know," says Dwalin, voice gruff and hands tightening until his knuckles blanch. "My brother, and several others including Óin and Ori, ventured to reclaim Moria. We have heard no word from there for many years."

Conversation dwindles as each dwarf and hobbit is lost in their thoughts.

The rest of the evening is spent further diminishing the shelves of the pantry, and drinking mug after mug of ale.

Slowly, in groups or alone, the occupants of Bag End depart for bed; some like Kíli stagger a little and lean into their companions as they leave, and some such as Dwalin seem to disappear as though they were never there at all. At last, it is only Bilbo and Thorin left.

The fire in the hearth has long since burned down, and the only light that is cast is a flickering glow from the coals. No sound beyond the distant murmurs of those readying for bed is heard, until after many long minutes, Thorin lets out a deep sigh.

The dwarf king stands, and though his joints do not creak or pop, the movement lacks the grace of youth. He walks to the mantelpiece and, echoing a movement first made sixty years before, places one hand upon it and leans his weight there.

Bilbo watches Thorin and something like a dam breaks in his chest. Suddenly he is no longer watching his life pass as though from a great distance, and all of the many years of feeling crashes down upon him at once. It leaves him blinking back tears and sucking in a desperate breath because it suddenly feels as though his chest is being squashed beneath a boulder.

Thorin hears the gasp of air that Bilbo takes and is at the hobbit's side in three long strides. He goes down to one knee beside Bilbo's chair and takes hold of his shoulders, urging Bilbo to turn to him. At the feel of resistance, Thorin simply pulls hard enough that Bilbo falls into his chest, head tucked into the curve of his neck, and wraps the hobbit into a tight embrace.

Thorin does not speak as he holds Bilbo close; his eyes close tightly and he presses his cheek into Bilbo's hair. He takes in a the warmth of Bilbo's body, and the smell of him, like that of old libraries and spring all at once, fills Thorin's senses.

It is many long moments before Bilbo pulls away, and Thorin lets him go reluctantly.

Thorin brings a hand up, and traces his fingers over Bilbo's cheek. "I believed that hobbits were given to a much shorter lifespan than dwarves," says Thorin. "But to my eyes you have scarcely aged a day."

Bilbo laughs quietly. "If you were to listen to my many relations, they would tell you that I have paid for my lasting youth with some of the gold from my many tunnels filled with treasure."

"Tunnels filled with treasure?" Thorin shakes his head, bemused. "That is the least of what you should have returned with in thanks for your deeds." Thorin's voice is somber and filled with regret and guilt.

"I hold no ill will over what happened," says Bilbo. "And no desire for any treasure."

Thorin stares at Bilbo for a long moment, then says, "If only I had been of a similar mind in those days. Then maybe I could have …" Thorin's words fade, and he looks aggrieved.

"It was long ago," says Bilbo. "And no matter how we wish it, we cannot change that which is in the past."

"Aye," says Thorin. "Wise words, dear Bilbo."

"Mm. And as such, we should seek to follow them." Bilbo takes Thorin's shoulders in hand. "Let the past lay, my friend. Let us move beyond."

"You offer to absolve me?" Thorin asks, and he looks overwhelmed and hopeful.

Bilbo shakes his head, but before Thorin's face can fall, he says, "There is nothing to absolve, Thorin Oakenshield."

"Surely-" Thorin begins to says, but is interrupted by Bilbo squeezing his shoulders with surprising strength.

"_Nothing._"

Thorin does not respond at first, then nods and whispers, "Thank you."

That night both Thorin and Bilbo find a peace in their dreams that they have not known for many years.

–

Early the next day Fíli and Kíli find Thorin in the gardens enjoying the morning sun. Their uncle won't admit to it, but his body has suffered many hurts in his long years, and the coolness of nights and of the long winters affect him more and more with each changing of the seasons. He seems at peace here in the warm autumn weather, though, and it is reminiscent of the days before thoughts of gold, revenge, and a long-lost home overtook Thorin's mind.

Thorin regards them with his blue eyes as they join him on the bench, sinking down on either side of him. "I gather that you found no trouble on the road," he says.

Fíli shrugs and says, "Nothing worth noting. Truthfully, the caravan was large enough to deter even the most stalwart of attackers."

"I am glad." Thorin nods to himself, satisfied. "And how have you fared here in the Shire? Have you spent your time wisely?"

Fíli looks away, and Thorin watches the action with furrowed brows. The conversation dies there and they sit without speaking for several moments, their attention turned outward.

In the distance, down upon the field that plateaus above the Water, there is a small gathering of Hobbits that can be seen walking about and pointing at this or that. They are planning for the many tables, seats and tents to be arranged on Bilbo and Frodo's birthday.

Frodo himself can be distinguished by his dark curls among the many browns and blondes, and by the almost ethereal pallor of his skin. His laugh, a loud sound that seems to come from his very centre, is a distant call carried on the wind.

Thorin sees where Fíli and Kíli's eyes are drawn and he sighs. "It would seem to me that these Hobbits have a way of ensnaring Durin's Folk."

Fíli looks to Thorin with no small amount of apprehension, and says, "Only those of the Baggins variety."

Thorin huffs in amusement. "And is your affection returned?"

Swallowing hard, Kíli says, "We believe so."

Humming in thought, Thorin nods and looks to Fíli. "And what do you mean to do about this?"

"We mean to court him, Uncle."

Thorin regards his nephews. "You are certain?" It is, after all, common knowledge that Dwarves do not chose to love and to court more than one wife or husband in all of their lives, and for Fíli and Kíli to look here, together, at this Hobbit…

Fíli and Kíli do not hesitate. "Yes," they say in unison. There is no doubt in their eyes.

"Then I give you my blessing." Thorin nearly joins in with a smile of his own at the sight of Fíli and Kíli's grins. Instead he asks, "And does Bilbo know of your intentions?"

A grin does spread across Thorin's lips this time as he takes in the blank horror that fills Kíli and Fíli's faces. But soon he is serious again. "You know that there will be no small amount of unrest over your taking of an outsider as a bond mate. And of there being more than two of you."

The xenophobic ways of the Dwarves is no secret, but the inclusion of other races in their homes, hearts and ways is not unprecedented. It is the matter of more than two to this relationship that will draw attention, and perhaps ill will.

"Aye," says Fíli, sounding confident. "But we've made our choice, and we shall have many years of courting ahead to calm any discontent."

"And what of Hobbit custom?" asks Thorin.

"What do you mean?" Kíli's brows are pinched in question, and his head tilted a little to the side.

"What if it is the way of Hobbits to dally for some time, perhaps a month, perhaps a year, and then suddenly announce a wedding for the next week?"

Fíli and Kíli share a look, and Fíli says, "That isn't the way of Hobbits, is it?"

Thorin shakes his head. "I do not truly know, but perhaps you should gather some knowledge before you announce your intentions. And perhaps think of a way to explain our ways to Frodo."

Fíli nods slowly and says, "I do not believe he will protest following our customs." He sounds a little unsure.

"And if he does?" asks Thorin with a raised brow.

"We will discuss that option, should it come to that," Fíli says, nodding with finality, and Kíli follows suit. They look less sure than they had a moment before, but more determined.

Were Fíli and Kíli anything but the heirs to the throne of Erebor they may have some leeway in their deeds, but they are the heirs. And there are certain aspects of Dwarvish custom that they cannot throw to the side. It remains to be seen what the reaction will be to their trio, if it is to occur.

"And what of you, Uncle?" asks Kíli. He is staring intently at Thorin. "What do you think the reaction will be when not only the heirs, but the King himself, brings back a Hobbit?"

Thorin's lips twitch, though whether in a smile or a grimace it cannot be told, and he looks grimly determined. "I think that our people can only benefit from the inclusion of Hobbits among our numbers." But there is doubt in his eyes, for there may have been resolution between him and Bilbo, but they had not spoken of what would come next.

He does not say that they deserve to live as they please, as the rulers of Erebor, and only in his most private and guarded thoughts does he think it at all. His deeds in reclaiming Erebor are known and celebrated, but they do not give him leave to turn his people against him through actions they will abhor.

If there is one thing that Thorin has learned, and has taught Fíli and Kíli, since the retaking of Erebor, it is that not only do their people owe them their allegiance, _they_ owe their people their allegiance as well.

They sit with their thoughts until Thorin looks at Fíli from the corner of his eye, and says, "I have heard word of your new skills. Should we look to haul dirt and seed into the upper halls to stave your gardening needs?"

Fíli's lips twitch. "It's not a very Dwarvish activity, is it? I don't imagine weeding is a skill known by many in Erebor."

Thorin shakes his head. "Mm. No, I don't know of any who work with tilled earth, except perhaps those that maintain the roads into and out of the Mountain."

Fíli laughs softly and says, "Do you believe that Bilbo will come to Erebor?"

Thorin's eyes drop to his folded hands. "I do not know," he says, and his voice is rough.

Fíli and Kíli look at their uncle with sympathy. The manner in which Bilbo had left Erebor was an open wound to those of Thorin's Company, and no one was more affected than Thorin himself.


End file.
